Page 8 of A Bride for the Winter King
A thousand candles flicker over the floorboards of the balcony in all shapes and sizes, hot wax dripping down their sides. Three golden lanterns are set between the candles inmemory of the people we lost in the last few weeks. I was almost one of them, and I swallow hard at the memory, discreetly wiping a tear from the corner of my eye.
“Mortal love wanes. Fae love cuts to the bone,” Baka rasps in her thick accent. A beautiful wooden tiara sits atop the sprite’s head, right between her thin, floppy ears. “Will ye cut yourself to honor yer commitment to each other, from this moment forth to eternity?”
I press my lips together not to squirm at the familiar phrase, and the wretched taste of spiderwebs fills my mouth. Even though this is a radically different wedding ceremony than the one during which I almost died, too much of it is similar—starting with the groom.
Damian takes the jeweled dagger from Baka’s wrinkled hands, hikes up his sleeve, and rests the sharp tip of the blade on his lower arm until it draws blood. “Nell… When I met you I was broken. A mere shadow of the man I pretended to be. I was clutching to my bad habits with both hands, blinded by self-hatred.” He smudges his thumb in his blood and traces her lips with it, his voice growing quieter and quieter. “You saved me in spite of myself, and I will spend the rest of my days fighting for you and our happiness the way I should have done from day one.”
She takes the dagger from him and cuts a matching line in her arm. “You saved me too, Damian. You offered me a life I could have never dreamed of. A chance to love and laugh without shame. I vow to remind you of that, everyday, so that you never forget who you are. The most dauntless and stubborn—but also patient, kind and clever—absolutely enchanting king of Faerie.”
They draw blood runes over each other’s cheeks before Nell links their tainted fingers and tugs him closer. Their blood mixes, and the runes seep inside their skin with a flare of magic.
Fingers entwined, they stare at each other, eyes full of tears and adoration.
“They look quite taken with each other,” Seth whispers in my ear.
He’s standing way too close to me for his damn Fae-prince-ness not to quicken my pulse, and I roll my shoulders back. “That’s because they’re in love.”
“So…you believe in love?”
My brows pull together. “You’re the Spring Queen’s son. Are you telling me that you don’t?”
With his hands linked at his front, he switches his weight from one foot to the other. “Jury’s still out. I’ve yet to witness a love that wasn’t bred out of a thirst for power or fabricated by some flimsy magical arrows.”
“You’re totally ruining this for me.”
He smiles like he’s privy to an age-old secret. “No I’m not. I’m distracting you from the sting in your ribs and the dark memories eating away at you.”
“How do you know about the bite, anyway?”
A cloud passes over his face. “I might be a Spring weed, but I’m more comfortable in a storm.”
Weedis a derogatory term for illegitimate children born outside of the Spring Court, and the crude word makes my teeth grind.
Baka narrows her eyes in our direction. I offer her a sheepish grimace, and she clears her throat, ready to close the ceremony.
“Under the watchful eyes of the Seven…ye may now make sweet luv to yer bride,” she says on a chuckle. Faerie folks do not shy away from telling it like it is, and her pink eyes gleam with warmth. “But maybe a dance or two, first?”
Damian curls a hand around Nell’s neck and gives her a kiss so perfect, so intimate, that my gaze darts to the ground. I’dnever dream to be loved so completely. Their romance is a tale for the ages.
Applause and cat-calls resonate on the balcony before we slip inside the mirror at the back of the room to wait for the newlyweds in the banquet hall. The secretive quality of the ceremony won’t help get the party started, but we’ll do them proud.
Jo, the leader of the hunter squad, inches toward us and gives Seth the stink eye. “Is he bothering you, little ninja?”
“We’re fine, aren’t we, Lori?” Seth chimes.
I pat my friend’s shoulder to soothe him. “Right as rain. Thank you, Jo.”
Beautiful champagne flutes are passed around by flying trays until we’re all holding one, and the bride and groom walk to the center of the ballroom.
Damian raises his bubbly drink in the air. “Let’s toast to new beginnings, love, and to my queen.”
“In her name!” we all shout back in cheer—even Seth.
“Long live the king and queen!” Cece adds with a big smile plastered on her face.
We drink to their health, and Nell blushes a deep shade of red. “Thank you for being here. It means a lot.”
“We love you, Nell,” I declare loudly enough to start another round of pep-filled shouts and applause.
